


Frozen Bullet

by MishaAnya



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:35:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2481539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MishaAnya/pseuds/MishaAnya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Santos wins the election but before he takes office. Members of the Santos campaign are showered with gunfire leaving a event and triggering a PTSD episode for Josh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frozen Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> My first The West Wing fanfiction. Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Josh doesn’t hear balloons pop anymore. He doesn’t hear the sound that fenders make when they hit something in front of them. He doesn’t hear champagne bottles open or books falling to the ground. He doesn’t hear gunshots. Only music. It’s sudden and out of place and panic fills his chest as the edges of his vision start to blacken. He is falling and yet, not moving. Around him, there is nothing, and also chaos. The ground beneath him is disappearing and he is losing himself.

Then something pulls him from the edge. Something is clearing the black away. He can’t place it, it enters his mind dully, and broken, like a static filled radio. Beyond the static, the music is still roaring in his head. He sees pieces. Red flashes, blonde glimpses, and blue eyes that grab hold of him. 

“Josh.”  
The music draws back a little. It’s still in his head, pushing to get out. Something warm and wet is on his hand. “Josh.”

The edges around his vision start to clear up just a little. The blue eyes blink up at him. He knows these. He stares at the eyes, trying to stay focus, but the music is still there. “Josh.”

Wet hands grab at his and he tried to hold on to them. A voice that sounds like his says something, but he doesn’t know what. He body isn’t his anymore. He wants say something, he wants to remind himself to hold on. 

Lights are flashing and people are running. Somehow, he knows something’s wrong. He can still hear the music, but he can’t hear the chaos around him. There should be noise. Instead, the instruments whine and scream around him. He’s falling again. Fear fills him. He’s only been this scared once. It wasn’t even that long ago. When the doctor said it might be permanent. When he said they wouldn’t know. When he said those two words “brain damage” that could have meant the loss of those beautiful blue eyes. Those two words that left him unable to eat, drink, or think for three days, just waiting for the eyes to open. 

“Donna.”

Something is in his arms. He’s walking towards the lights. Red and blue. Blood and eyes. The black starts to creep in again. Someone bumps into him but he doesn’t see who. He just sees lights and chaos and darkness threatening to come. What’s in his arms is being pulled gently away. He doesn’t know why he lets go, but he knows he does. The wet warmth is still on his hands. He can feel something in his back throbbing, almost searing. 

He looks at his hands. He’d been trying not to, but didn’t know why. Now he sees the red all over them. It’s all over his shirt. It’s everywhere. His eyes start to lose focus again. The black is creeping back in, mixed with red and eyes that won’t open. The music has returned with a renewed vigor. He tries to hold on. If only he could make the music stop.

It won’t. He tries to wipe the blood onto his pants, and he hears a screaming group of brass ringing in his ears. In his head, the drums, beat with no time, as if their only goal is to be off. The black is taking over. Black and flashes of red is all he can see. Hold on. The music then comes into a roaring crescendo and the red is gone, and all he sees is dark. 

C.J. was used to running down the halls of the West Wing. Running late to staff meetings and press briefings, trying to get to Josh or Toby before having to make a statement she didn’t fully understand, trying to get a moment with Leo, trying to avoid Leo, and always avoiding persistent journalists. After moving into Leo’s office, though. She didn’t need to run anymore. She was always right there. Originally, she enjoyed the proximity. It saved time if she needed the President. She was closer to the conference rooms, and the journalists weren’t supposed to hound her so close to the Oval.

Today, though, C.J. would give anything to have those few extra seconds to get from her desk to the President. Those few extra seconds to think about what she was going to say. How she was going to say it. The worst part knowing that no matter how she put it, it was a bad situation all around and nothing she said was going to ease the impact. Kate entered her office with Will. C.J. nodded to them before knocking quietly on the door. Then she led them into the Oval. The President didn’t acknowledge them at first. He sat at his desk, poured over some folders. 

As they approached the Resolute Desk, he spoke, “What is it, C.J.?”

She struggled to open her mouth and the President looked at her and then to Kate and Will before bringing his eyes back to where he started. “Sir, there’s been a situation here in the D.C. area. At 6: 17 President-Elect Matt Santos, his family, and members of the campaign were leaving a reception hall. They were shot at by civilians.”

The President put the folder in his hand down and C.J. continued. “The President-Elect was hit in the back, right shoulder and an agent was pronounced dead at the scene.”

“Mrs. Santos and the children?”

“All accounted for, Sir, though understandably shaken up. The President-Elect was rushed to a nearby hospital. The initial report is that he will make a full recovery.”

“Members of the campaign.”

“Sir?”

“You said members of the campaign. Josh?” The President looked at C.J. 

“Sir,” C.J. paused. “Donna Moss was admitted into the same hospital as Santos. First response says she’s in critical condition.”

“Remind me to buy her a bullet proof everything,” the President reclined in his chair and sighed. 

“Sir, we’ve been unable to locate Josh,” Will said.

“Excuse me?” The President sat up looking at them.

“Mrs. Santos said he walked outside with them, but he seems to have gotten lost in the chaos, Sir.”

“So, call his cell phone! Find him!” The President was standing now.

“Sir, all calls to him have gone to voicemail. Witnesses remember seeing him, but no one knows where he is, or in what condition he’s in.”

“What condition…” the President’s voice trailed off. 

“Sir,” C.J. paused again. “Sir, it’s possible that Josh is uninjured.”

“And he’s just wondering around D.C. while his boss and Donna Moss are in surgery?! You can’t be serious.”

C.J. took a breath. “Sir, it is possible that after hearing the gunshots, Josh…”

“I don’t need to hear this.”

Kate took over. “Sir, they’ve taken the suspects into custody. There were two shooters. It seems they have a problem with a Latino president.”

“Well, now they can deal with it while they rot in a jail cell.”

The room was silent for a moment before the President spoke again. “I need the numbers for families of the agent that was lost, Donna Moss, and get me Mrs. Santos as well.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

They turned to leave. “C.J.,” he called out. “Find him. Soon.”

“Yes, sir.”

They filed out of the door and C.J. took a deep breath in. Kate looked at her. “What didn’t you tell him?”

C.J. looked down before looking back up. “Mrs. Santos said Josh walked out with Donna Moss. And she was the most critically injured.”

 

“C.J.!”

C.J.’s head snapped to the right. Will was staring at her. “What?”

“Do you have anything else on the suspects? I’m getting a ton of questions.”

“Just do your job.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“Well, do it so they don’t ask more questions!” C.J. glanced at the clock. It was past nine. She picked up her phone and dialed his cell phone again and again it rang until the voicemail picked it up. 

Will watched her slam the phone onto the receiver. “Damn it!”

Will sighed. “C.J., at what point do we want to consider asking for the public’s help in finding him?”

“You mean plastering his face on every news station in D.C.?”

“It’s quick, not to mention effective. He’s gotta be out there somewhere. Someone will recognize-”  
“Oh, yea. Let’s just spread the next Chief of Staff’s photograph all over the area on the night when the President Elect was shot! I can hear the questions now. ‘Is Josh Lyman suspected to be involved with what happened tonight? Why would Josh Lyman disappear after an attempt on his boss’ life?’ And so on and so forth. No! We have to find him before the press gets wind of this.”

“So you want to risk his possible health and safety because of what it will look like to the press?” Will said, incredulously. “C.J., he could be bleeding in a ditch somewhere!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” C.J. said. “Or he could have had a PTSD episode and found himself a bar to wallow in until he feels better. Or he could have been taken hostage. Or he could be at a different hospital with no identification. The possibilities are endless, Will. But on the off chance that he isn’t bleeding to death out there, if I put his name and face on every billboard in the city, he won’t have a job come January!”

Will waited a moment. “What’d the President say?”

“He gave me three hours.”

“When?”

“Two and a half hours ago.”

“So…”

“So, if we don’t find him in the next 30 minutes, you’ll be making a statement and you will do everything in your power to minimize the backlash this could create.”  
Will sighed and left the office. 

 

What possessed Toby to go outside, he’d never know. It was late, he’d spent the afternoon reading a book and dozed off to see it completely dark outside and no food in the house. After checking briefly for lurking journalists, he decided he was too hungry to care and if they were hiding in the bushes, he could always chuck groceries at them. What was an assault charge compared to treason anyways?

He walked out the door of his building and was greeted by the November air as it whipped his face not so gently. The streets were bare, but he could hear sirens not far away. Not unusual. You could always hear sirens in D.C. Motorcades, car accidents, foreign visitors, all of these called for a police presence. 

He was halfway down the steps when he noticed someone sitting on them. He continued walking and then looked at the man. He was pale and his lips were dangerously tinted blue. Toby felt a feeling he’d only felt once before. That someone was going to die in front of him. 

“Josh,” he croaked as he grabbed the man by the shoulders. “Josh, speak to me.”

“Toby…”

Toby looked at him and saw the red on his hands and shirt. “Josh, are you hurt? Josh, talk to me.” He started to pull off the younger man’s shirt before finding the wound in the back. Toby swore and grabbed his cell phone, dialing 911. “I need an ambulance,” he screamed into the phone.

“Josh, talk to me. What happened? Where were you?”

“Donna. I gotta get to Donna. No…the music…” Josh put his head in his hands and screamed. “Make it stop, Toby! I can’t make the music stop!”

Just then Toby heard Josh’s cell phone start ringing. He searched the man’s pocket and flipped the phone open. C.J.’s voice came through the end. “Josh! Oh my god, Josh! Where are you?”

“C.J.”

He heard her take a breath. “Jesus, Toby. What are you doing?”

“I found him outside my apartment frozen and blood all over him. What the hell happened?”

“God, Toby, haven’t you turned on the television?! He and about twenty others were shot at three hours ago.”

“He’s been wondering around in near freezing temperatures for three hours with a bullet lodged in his side? What the hell have you all been doing?”

He heard C.J. take a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “An ambulance is on the way. I don’t know where we’re going. I’ll let you know when we get there.”

“Okay, okay.”

Toby looked at Josh. “C.J.”

“Yea?”

“It doesn’t look good. You better warn the President.”

He clicked the phone shut as the sirens from the ambulance became deafeningly close. Paramedics jumped out of the vehicle as Toby told them what he knew. They loaded Josh onto a stretcher and covered his bottom half with blankets. Toby climbed into the back without question, and watched as they placed an oxygen mask over Josh’s face and ripped his shirt to look at the wound. “He’s lost a lot of blood!” someone called.

“Tell them to have a trauma surgeon to be ready!”

“BP is going down, we got to get him stabilized.”

Toby’s hand found Josh’s. No words were spoken. Josh looked barely conscious when he started convulsing. “He’s crashing!”

Toby moved out of the way as a defibrillator was unpacked and charged. Machines all over the cabin were whining and pinging. The sirens above filled the rest of the air. How these men worked with so much noise, Toby would never know. The paddles charged and crashed against Josh’s chest. The machines kept wailing. Someone shouted “Again!” and again the paddles touched Josh’s skin, his whole body shaking with the shock.

 

“Sir, we found Josh.”

“It’s about damn time!” President Bartlet stood up. “Where is he? I’m gonna kill him.”

“Sir, he’s on his way to the hospital.” C.J. stopped there as the President analyzed her words and stared at her. 

“Is there anything else, C.J.?”

C.J. took a breath. “It seems that he wandered around D.C. and found himself in front of Toby’s apartment.”

The President’s disposition changed at the mention of Toby’s name. “Sir, Toby called an ambulance for him. He was hit, sir.”

“And?"

“Sir,” she paused again. “Sir, I’d like to remind you that Toby’s not a doctor and he’s also not the most optimistic of sorts, but he said it didn’t look good. He’s on his way with Josh.”

The President stood silently for a moment. “Right,” he said. “Okay.”

“Sir?”

“Get me the Secret Service right now.”

“Sir, I-”

“Claudia Jean, do not test me.”

“Sir, you can’t go to the hospital.”

President Bartlet stared at her. “The men who are to replace you and me in this building in two months were shot this evening and I have every intention of seeing them in the hospital. Tonight.”

“Sir, with all due respect, we can’t take you into a hospital without have Secret Service clear it first. Not to mention, if you’re there, you can’t be here which is where you need to be during a national emergency. Furthermore, sir, you cannot be seen within 100 yards of Toby Ziegler.”

President Bartlet started to open his mouth. “Sir, I understand your concern and I can assure there is nowhere I’d rather be right now than at Josh or Donna’s side but we are needed here. And if we go to the hospital now, nearly four hours after the shooting, it looks like we were deciding whether we wanted to go. If we wait a day or two, it sends the message that we are allowing the doctors to do their work. It also makes the Secret Service calm down because, to be completely honest, sir, I don’t think they will let you out of this building right now.”

The President stared at C.J. His gaze was stern, but C.J. held her own. “Fine,” he said. “I want hourly updates on Josh’s condition and I want to speak to Matt Santos as soon as he’s able.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

“C.J., you tell the Secret Service they better figure out a way to get me to that hospital tomorrow or we really will be in a national emergency.”

“Yes, sir.” C.J. knew better than to argue. 

 

Josh knew pain before. He’d been shot, put his hand through a window, and had been in a brawl more than once. All of that could not prepare him for what he felt when he tried to open his eyes. The pain was searing, like a bad hangover and a migraine decided to have the spawn of Satan’s headache. His eyes watered around his lids, burning. He ached everywhere. He felt a tube down his throat, his tongue sore from the foreign object. There was not a single limb he could move without wanting to pass out again. It hurt too much to want to stay awake.

So in and out he drifted, sometimes hearing familiar voices he couldn’t quite place, and other times hearing music that made him want to hurl. Every now and then, he tried to open his eyes, but gave up when the pain came. After the third time, he stopped, and decided to focus on a different body part instead. Sometimes, he tried to listen to see who was there. He knew he was in a hospital. The tube was a good indication of that. How he got there, what was wrong with him, and why everything hurt was still unknown.

Toby sat at Josh’s side with a book. Three days, Josh had been here. The bullet had been removed, but he’d died twice on the table. It was sheer luck and will keeping him here now. No improvement was the word of the day. Every time the nurse or doctor came in, that’s what was written on his chart. So every time C.J. called, that’s all Toby could say. 

Toby glanced at the clock on the wall. They’d agreed on a schedule so that when Josh awoke, he wouldn’t be alone. Charlie would be getting in any minute. It was decidedly the best strategy, as they didn’t know what his mental or emotional state would be. A familiar face could be the difference between him staying put or ripping out his IVs and making a run for it. Toby looked at Josh’s face and couldn’t help but wonder if waking up was even a possibility. 

He turned back to his magazine for only a minute when the phone rang. Toby sighed as he took the phone into the hallway. “Yea?”

“How is he?”

“You mean from the last time you asked thirty minutes ago? No change.”

There was silence on the other end. “The President wants to see him.”

“Tell him it’s pointless and Josh won’t even know he’s there. It’d be like sitting next to a dead body that may or may not wake up eventually.”

“I appreciate you being honest, Mr. Sunshine,” C.J. started. “But I’m having trouble delaying the inevitable visit so could you keep the brutality to a minimum?”

Toby grunted in response. 

“Will is on his way. I had to send Charlie to the hill last minute. You better start praying that Josh wakes up soon cause I expect the President will be attempting to lose his Secret Service if we don’t go to the hospital soon.”

“Yea, okay.”

Toby clicked the phone shut and walked back into the room. No improvement. Josh lay on a bed of white sheets. Wires, and needles, and probes came from him in all directions, connecting to the machines that hummed around him. One to keep him breathing, as he had stopped on his own. Another for his heart rate. One controlling the morphine drip. The next monitoring brain waves. There was beeping, and whirring, and humming. These sounds were keeping him alive, minute by minute. Hour by hour. 

“Josh, if you don’t wake up soon, I’m going to go justifiably insane from all these damn machines,” he muttered under his breath. 

 

Jed Bartlet was not a patient man. If he wanted something, he wanted it ten minutes ago and you’re now late giving it to him. He was not used to being told to wait for any significant period of time, and he most certainly wasn’t good at listening to such instruction. So when C.J. Cregg kept denying him any sort of access to the hospital where two of his former employees were recovering, to say it made him cranky would be an understatement. Agent Butterworth had already ordered two additional agents to him in the event he tried to shake his detail. 

The President grumbled as he poured over more intelligence from Kazakhstan. What a mess they were getting into. He knew it but this troop deployment was a necessary evil to prevent a possibly World War III. So much for accomplishing peace in his time or in his children’s time. The repercussions of this would not be known for years. This would be his legacy. 

C.J. walked in. “C.J., if you don’t have some good news today, I might just start World War III myself,” he muttered. 

“Probably shouldn’t say that in the Oval, sir.”

“Probably not.”

“Sir, you wanted an update on Josh?”

“I believe I said I wanted an update every hour, C.J.,” the President gave her a look that she held without faltering.

“Sir, then you would have eight reports of ‘still in surgery’ one report of ‘complications during surgery’, one report of ‘out of surgery’, and over thirty six reports of ‘no improvement’. Forgive me, but I think had I reported ‘no improvement’ so many times in a row, you would have been out the door already.”

“When do I get to go to the hospital, C.J.? I listened to you. You said to wait a day or two. It’s been three days. Matt Santos has already been discharged.”

“Sir, I-”

“Make arrangements for me to tomorrow.”

“Mr. President, I just spoke to Toby on the phone. It’s the same report we’ve been getting. There’s been no change, sir.”

“What aren’t you tell me?” The President looked at C.J. with renewed interest. “Have you been censoring the reports?”

“Sir, the only reports I’m getting right now are from whoever happens to be at the hospital. Right now, Will is there. Twenty minutes ago it was Toby. Nothing has changed since he was released from surgery.”

“What were the complications from surgery?”

“Sir?”

“You said there were complications and didn’t elaborate. Why didn’t you elaborate? For all I know he’s been dead for three days you all have been covering it up!”

“Sir, he died on the table twice. The bullet pierced his lung, he’s not breathing own. He hasn’t woken up yet, and if he does, it will be nothing short of a miracle,” C.J. took a breath. “Sir, I understand your frustration but the reality is he was walking around D.C. in the winter while bleeding out of his back. There’s nothing we can do for him at the hospital, sir.”

“Claudia Jean, you make arrangements for me to go that hospital. Tomorrow,” The President was standing behind his desk. “That is a direct order, C.J. so I suggest you get the Secret Service on the phone immediately.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. President.”

 

Josh wanted more than anything to open his eyes. He really just wanted control over some part of his body. The list of organs that weren’t doing his bidding were longer than those he was in control and he didn’t like the feeling. 

“Josh.”

Oh God. He knew that voice. Please let this be a dream…an awful, awful dream.

“Josh.”

Damn.  
“Josh, I don’t know if you can hear me.”

Of all the times out his brain had quit on him, it was fully functioning now. If only he could control his eyelids. Just for a minute. That’s all he needed. Just a minute. It’d be worth it to show Jed Bartlet he was here. Come on. Damn it. Eyes. Open. 

“Josh, I’ve been fighting C.J., the Secret Service, and Abbey to let me down here for four days, don’t feel like you have to perform on my account.”

There it was. Bright lights. White, everywhere. A dark shape was next to him. As the white subsided, the face started to come into focus. Jed Bartlet’s eyes were locked on to his. Josh watched as realization came to the President’s face. Josh knew this man, inside and out. If the last four days had been hell for Josh, he could see it was equally as hard on the President. The lines on his face seemed to disappear as he smiled and put his hand on Josh’s. 

Josh was wishing more than anything for the tube to be out of his throat so he could say something. Ask something. Do something. “Josh, you were shot coming out of a building with Matt Santos, his family, and other members of the campaign.”

He remembered walking out of the building. The President-Elect and family were ahead of him and to the right. He had been talking to someone from the campaign. 

“Donna and the President-Elect were both hit, Josh.” 

Something next to Josh started beeping sporadically. Damn his body for betraying him once again. The President sighed. “Santos is alright, Josh. Donna is in recovery. If you don’t calm down now, the doctors going to kick me out, and not that I really care what they have to say, but Abbey’s with them so….” He took a breath. “Josh, I don’t know how much you remember, so I’m going to let you know. You and Donna were both shot as you were walking out. It appears, from what we can gather from the paramedics and crime scene, that you carried Donna to an ambulance and then you decided to take a three hour walk around the D.C. area before Toby found you on his doorstep half frozen and with nearly a pint of your own blood on your shirt.”

Josh couldn’t nod, so he tried to move his eyes up and down to show his understanding. “You gave us quite a scare there,” The President said. 

Josh squeezed the President’s hand. The President squeezed it back. They sat in silence for a few moments. There was so much Josh wanted to say and do. He wanted to talk, he wanted to check on Donna, and he wanted to check on the President-Elect. He wanted to do his job. He wanted to eat a cheeseburger. His head was starting to hurt, and black spots were crowing the edges of his vision. Josh blinked, trying to keep the black at bay, but only succeeded in making his eyes water. The black spots were growing bigger and he was losing the fight to keep his eyes opening. He briefly wondered if he could stay awake with his eyes shut, resolving to keep his grip strong as his eyes shut. The last thing he heard as the darkness took over, was Jed Bartlet’s voice resonating next to his head. 

“You’re gonna be alright, kid.”


End file.
